Enough
by WastefulReverie
Summary: Spider-Man's last words that caught Danny's attention. He'd called him a kid. It had been eight months since anyone had called him anything that suggested humanity, anything that suggested he wasn't a specimen to be examined, dissolved for knowledge. But he wasn't a kid anymore, despite his appearance. Inside he was just a numb shell, a lab rat, a specimen, a– But wasn't he a kid?


The hum of the motor was monotonous in a grating sort of way, but Danny couldn't complain. The truck was the most entertaining scenery he'd seen in months – it was new, different. The walls of the truck were gray, rigid, and metallic, so unlike the pristine marble walls of headquarters. Whenever the walls were white, anyway; he tended to _paint_ them on a regular basis, much to his chagrin. Maybe if they wanted to keep their hallways cleaner they wouldn't drag him across the floor after his bi-weekly _appointments_, but apparently, it didn't matter. The hallways seemed to magically reset to white, no matter how much he dirtied them.

He wondered if the new facility would look like the last one. He hoped not. He hated those white walls with a passion. They were stainless, unforgiving. If one stared into the white for too long their very essence would be lost in the void of color.

(_Like you have an essence anyway. You're _gone_. You're just a specimen._)

Regardless, if the new facility was the same as the last one Danny wouldn't be surprised – the Guys In White were pretty predictable. They liked uniformity, simplicity, erasure – _white_. That was an omnipresent trait in their organization. Anyway, he'd discover what the new facility was like soon enough – they'd been in this truck forever. They _had _to be almost there now, didn't they?

For the fifth time that minute, Danny glanced around the truck. The agents kept speaking to a minimum – most of them sat along the truck's bench and occupied themselves with their phones, like mindless drones. There were at least ten of them, standing by in case he managed to escape his bonds (_all to contain you, you _special _little specimen_).

The other few agents were on guard shift, meaning that they had to physically restrain him. In addition to the clunky inhibitors that shackled his limbs and neck to the floor, two agents held each of his arms to ensure that he had no room to move. Oh, and then there was the agent with the gun against his head, couldn't forget him. He gave no indication that his arm was getting tired, even though he'd been on shift for at least an hour now and hadn't shifted his aim once. Truthfully, Danny was almost impressed with the guy's endurance.

After so many months with the GIW, Danny just stopped registering the threat of weapons – he was used to their presence and they were only used when he misbehaved. And lately, he'd been a good lab rat, after he gave up most hope of ever escaping. He recalled giving up on the idea of freedom after about six months? Yeah, that seemed about right. After that, the experiments were so much easier to tolerate since he didn't have to pretend that they were _traumatic_ anymore. It was just a part of his life: wake up, get his guts pushed around, hurt a bit, and go back to sleep. It's not like he was useful for anything beyond science, so at least they were milking information out of him. Danny Fenton's consciousness was worthless, but his body was a playhouse!

… sometimes he wished he didn't have a consciousness so he wouldn't have to put up with all this boredom. He'd learned to deal with pain, being tortured every day did that to someone. But being bored was almost more excruciating than being strapped to a table, no room for movement with hands roaming across your naked body. Scalpels dragging across your skin like paper, leaving neat wet slices. The snap of latex gloves and someone pulling back your skin as another hand pushes into that hole in your torso, drawing their fingers against your liver and firmly _squeezing_–

Yeah, Danny considered that better than boredom.

Boredom tormented the mind in ways that physical torture couldn't. And to tell the truth, Danny faced that more often than he did experimentation. Many GIW agents didn't work on the weekends, so Danny would lie in his cell for two days a week with nothing to do but pick at his own injuries and kick the walls, hoping that one day maybe they'd fall down.

Taunting thoughts plagued him, reminding him what a useless collection of brain cells he was. Reminding him that he would never escape and he didn't deserve to. And when those thoughts ran dry, Danny struggled to think about anything. He'd lay in his own bodily fluids and the cogs in his head would go round and round and round without any stimulation. And if was lucky, he'd fall asleep so he wouldn't have to submit to the abyss of his own mind.

Even now, sleep sounded nice. But he couldn't sleep, not with the two agents holding his arms and the gun against his temple. If his head slumped down they would slap him awake, likely with the butt of the gun. So, with nothing else to do Danny counted to two-hundred and thirty-seven before he lost count. He was tempted to start again, but he didn't have the mental energy.

What was there to think about other than the fact that he had nothing to think about? There was nothing to think about other than there was nothing to think about, nothing to think, do you think this is doing anything? No, because there's nothing to think about other than how I can't move and there's nothing to think and–

Boredom really sucked.

If only this stupid drive wasn't taking a full eternity... at this point he was ready to be thrown in his new cell and disposed of until the scientists were ready to play with their new little toy. At least in a cell, he could walk around, move his arms, move _anything_. Danny shut his eyes and exhaled. Man, how he just wanted to _move._

Before Danny could process anything, the world tilted and the men holding his arms were forced to let go of him. His head slammed against the gun and suddenly he was in the armed agent's lap. How had–? He hadn't done that, he definitely hadn't! (_I'd never act out, I am a vessel for scientific progression, my feelings don't matter. Freedom is unattainable._) Danny looked around and realized that the vehicle itself had _rocked_ and thrown its occupants sideways. That meant that the driver sucked at his job and hit something or something had slammed into the truck from the outside.

The agents reoriented themselves before Danny could. Many of them swore at the disruption and scrambled to restrain Danny. Seeing no reason to struggle, Danny flexed his arms out and let them pull him back to the center of the vehicle. But before they could complete that action, the truck lurched again. And this time, something broke. Danny heard the windshield break before he saw it, which perplexed him.

The GIW were thorough, their armed vehicles were almost as secure as their facilities – it would take hundreds of pounds of force to break through that tinted glass, that was just obvious. So what could break it? Additionally, if the windshield was breaking then... was it on purpose? Was someone there to break him out – an impossible task – or was it just a fluke? Danny decided it was likely a fluke; he'd given up on the notion of somebody _rescuing _him long ago. After all, he was only useful for science, a thing like him didn't need to be rescued.

But to his surprise, a figure donned in red pulled itself through the broken windshield. Danny's stomach dropped... that couldn't be... _Valerie?_ He squinted, struggling to see past the GIW agents who were moving to shield him. The red figure leaped from the wreckage and stuck to the ceiling. No, that couldn't be Valerie. And this spandex wearing maniac was definitely masculine – someone new.

He was wearing a mask, but it was clearly rigged with some kind of tech because his eyes – white, rimmed with black plastic – widened. "Karen," he spoke tentatively, clearly shocked, "I think we ambushed the wrong military grade vehicle."

The GIW erupted and started aiming their weapons at the intruder. Danny only watched, captivated by the turn of events. Was this some sort of... hero like he had been? That would explain the weird get-up; last time he checked, regular people didn't wear spandex and stick to ceilings. Well, he probably could – but Danny was a freak of nature, so he didn't count.

"Exit the vehicle at once or we _will_ shoot," an agent declared.

The guy on the ceiling shook his head, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I thought this was a _different_ armed vehicle," He gestured with his hand, "You see, I'm tracking these drug dealers and–" His gaze slipped from the agents down to Danny. For a moment, they met eye contact before the other guy looked away, baffled, "–_woah_, I'm sorry. Is that kid locked up?"

Out of everything he'd said, it was the red guy's last words that caught Danny's attention. He'd called him a _kid_. It had been eight months since anyone had called him anything that suggested humanity, anything that suggested he wasn't a specimen to be examined, dissolved for knowledge. The GIW had a courtesy of refraining from even addressing him with pronouns, to them he was just _it_. The kindness of being called a kid felt foreign after so many months. But he wasn't a kid anymore, despite his appearance. Inside he was just a numb shell, a lab rat, a specimen, a–

But wasn't he a kid?

He didn't know, he didn't want to know. It was just easier to believe he was what they told him he was.

It was just easier to feel the hurt and ignore the rest, accept what he was told about his existence. That escape was impossible, unattainable. But there wasn't a windshield anymore, nor a gun trained on him. The weapons were all aimed at the red guy on the ceiling, and Danny's only burden was his inhibitors and the two agents restraining his arms. If only he could get over to the windshield–

STOP. Escaping _isn't_ attainable. (_What would you even _do _if you escaped, you stupid specimen? Freedom isn't for shells._)

Danny slumped back into his captors' grips and sighed. The voice in his head was right, there was no getting out of this. This was his life now and this little blip would be resolved; the agents would drive the intruder out of the vehicle and transport him into another secure truck.

Although, the guy on the ceiling seemed to have other plans. He started crawling across the ceiling, hanging upside down from the surface with his hands and feet... how was he even _doing_ that? His movement was so nonchalant that Danny found it hard to believe that this was supposedly a human... though, he couldn't see what else this guy could be. His ghost sense hadn't gone off; even with the inhibitors, his ghost sense was a facet of his otherworldliness that they couldn't suppress.

The GIW reacted almost instantly to the intruder's motion, readjusting their weapons. "Get _away_ from the specimen!" one agent cried.

Crouching on the ceiling (somehow), red guy tilted his head. "'Specimen?'" he drew air quotes. "Dude, he's like fifteen and you have him in those shackle things, pinned to the floor! That's so messed up!" He looked up, evidently looking at nothing, "Karen, who _are_ these guys?"

"Enough!" spoke an agent – one of the higher up ones, usually in charge of Danny. Wasn't he... Agent N? "We _will_ shoot! Remove yourself from this vehicle! We will give you to the count of ten!"

Red guy looked back down and found Agent N's eyes, "Oh, so we're counting now?" he asked, almost childishly. "I can count."

And with that remark, he kicked himself off the ceiling and threw out his arm, changing trajectory in mid-air, knocking down two agents in the process. He swung – _is that fishing line?_ – to the other side of the vehicle and assumed a defensive stance. Only one of the agents he pushed down stood back up; the other had been knocked out cold. "That's one," he tallied, addressing the agent on the floor.

The agents collectively spun, struggling to keep up with his movements. As they raised their weapons, the red guy stood from the back wall of the truck and raised both his arms. Despite the two agents clinging to his arms, Danny had a clear sight of him – red guy pressed his fingers into his palms and that same thread-like material shot out from both wrists.

It expanded in the air – a handful of agents fired their weapons – the thread stuff clung to two groups of agents on either side of Danny, sticking them to the wall – and red guy did a back-flip onto the ceiling to avoid being hit.

"Two, three... six, seven! Not bad!" red guy counted. Although, there were still several agents that hadn't been hit by his... liquid-thread? That and some of the agents appeared to be getting loose...

The agents that remained fired again, but red guy swung out of the way before they even finished pulling the trigger. His instincts were _on point_, whoever – whatever – he was. He was back against the wall and fired a rapid succession of shots. The liquid-thread caught another group of agents off-guard ("eight... twelve!"), but now at least two of the first agents had broken free of their bonds.

"Stand down!" cried an agent. Red guy diverted his attention and knocked that guy off his feet with a quick kick to the stomach... leaving only six agents, including the two restraining Danny.

"Aw, now we're at eleven again," red guy corrected.

"You _don't_ want to do this."

"You have a good reason for locking up a kid like that?" he asked, trapping two more agents with his liquid-thread. "I didn't think so."

There were only two agents left standing, the other two were trying to pull Danny away from the intruder but had little success. They were trying to drag him but Danny was dead weight – paralyzed. Was this... even happening? How had this guy gotten the upper hand?

"-it's dangerous!" an agent, not much older than a college kid, fired. "It only _looks_ like a person. You can't believe it!"

Red guy dodged. "Well, that sounds like human trafficking if I've ever heard it," he quipped. Without hesitation, he shot another round of his liquid-thread, moving around the truck as he did so, and wrapped the two remaining agents together. They squirmed until they finally fell over and hit the floor.

The two agents holding Danny – a blonde man in his thirties and a fairly young dark-skinned man – tightened their grip. Red guy lowered himself to the floor and approached them, keeping his wrists poised defensively.

"We can't give you the specimen," the blonde agent hissed. "It's government property."

Danny looked between the two agents and realized that the darker-skinned agent was shaking, he could feel the man's grip trembling. They were _scared_ of this guy, scared that he'd succeed. And if they weren't confident that they could stand up to him... was freedom actually a reality? But what about everything this facility had taught Danny? Freedom wasn't his privilege, he didn't _deserve_ freedom, right? The agents made that clear, crystal clear. Hell, he didn't know what he'd do with himself if he had it! He was so broken, _very_ broken and-

He just wanted to die. And if this guy set him free, could he have that? The sweet release of death?

(_Don't fool yourself... you don't deserve that either...)_

… shut up.

Keeping a firm grip on Danny, the dark-skinned agent raised his weapon with his free arm and desperately tried to ward off the red guy... who deflected every shot. The blonde agent inhaled sharply and let go of Danny, pushing him into the dark-skinned agent's possession. Unlike his comrades, the blonde agent was actually going to try his hand in direct combat with the red guy, instead of relying on firearms. The agents tethered the walls of the vehicle cheered him on... encouraging him.

And this guy... _this guy_ – donned in red and blue spandex and mechanical eyes – groaned. "You don't want to hurt yourself, dude," he advised. "You realize who I am, right?"

"I don't give a crap who you are," the blonde agent replied, preparing his fighting stance. "I do my duty."

"Hmm," red guy took a step back, spun on his heels, and kicked him straight in the chest. The blow sent him flying across the truck, with enough force that it was definitely inhuman. Heck, Danny could _hear _the air knocked out of his lungs it was such a strong kick. "Warned you. Sorry. And that would be... sixteen!"

He addressed the last agent, the guy holding Danny. He was still shaking and Danny could tell that this guy didn't have it in him to fight back as the other agent had. Was this it? Was this really his release from this hell? Or was that too much to hope for...

Red guy also seemed to notice the agent's reluctance to fight and lowered his guard, "You don't have to fight, you know?" he offered. "Just give him up."

The agent shook his head and pulled Danny closer to him; all he could do was let him man-handle him like the obedient dog they'd made him. "No," he refused, adamantly. Danny could feel the man's breath down his neck and the way his clammy hands grazed his inhibitors.

Red guy sagged. "Don't make me do this, dude."

"Do what?" the man reflexively pulled Danny back with him.

Through his mask, Danny could see a hint of a smile. "This." And red guy lunged, grabbing hold of Danny and using his liquid-thread to yank the agent off of him. The agent was thrown to the floor in front of them and red guy used his thread to pin the agent in place. "And... seventeen's it, right?" he assessed the state of the truck and turned back to Danny, "You alright?"

What could he say? Obviously _no_, no Danny wasn't alright – he'd been held prisoner with the GIW for eight months and sliced to pieces regularly, held together by his freaky biology and ectoplasm supplements. There were inhibitors shackled on his limbs, preventing him from using his powers – including his strength, which made it even difficult to _stand_ with the weight of the inhibitors themselves.

And even in the face of freedom, all he wanted was to disappear, to fade into nothingness so he wouldn't have to struggle with the pain of existence any longer. Because for so _long_ he'd been convinced freedom was unattainable, so he'd abandoned the need for it. He couldn't go back to his life before, couldn't go back to Amity Park (they'd find him), couldn't go back to school (they'd find him), couldn't go back to fighting ghosts (they'd find him). What was there for him? In the entire world, there was _nothing_ for him anymore – they'd ensured that. Really, the only freedom he could imagine was darkness, the light shroud of death wrapped around his shoulders as he slipped into the stars, _forever_.

And deep down, he knew that didn't count as 'alright'... as much as he wanted it.

"... can you speak?" red guy asked, leaning down and placing a hand on Danny's shoulder.

He hadn't answered, had he? It'd been a while since Danny had truly _spoken _to someone, outside of asking for water or responding to a command. His voice cracked when he spoke, "Y – yeah." His tongue was heavy and dry, as always.

"Good, good," red guy nodded and cautiously moved his hand from Danny's shoulder to his inhibitors. "I can break these off you, right?"

He nodded numbly, hardly processing the exchange of words, "_Uh huh_."

"Alright, cool." Red guy dug his fingers into the mess of metal – ignoring the protests of the agents, still pinned to the walls – and disassembled the first inhibitor with nothing but brute force. It crackled before burning out, and red guy pulled Danny's arm out of the broken device. "I'm Spider-Man, by the way."

… _Spider_-Man? So _that's_ his gimmick?

"Hm," Danny acknowledged. The spider thing was a bit odd, but who was he to judge? After all, it wasn't as far-fetched as _Danny Phantom._

Spider-Man stood and offered his hand to Danny, "Can you stand?"

Most of the time Danny was just dragged places, but he was pretty sure he could still stand. It wasn't like they'd lopped his legs off yet, even though that had probably been on the drawing board for some of his procedures. Danny accepted Spider-Man's hand and used enough momentum to pull himself on his feet. The agents shouted – expressing threats, graphic descriptions of what they'll do with him if he escapes.

"_-hang a mirror above the table and make your freak ass watch... we'll rip you open and remove each your organs one by one...!_"

"_-inject little parasites into you and let them chew through your disease, inside out!_"

"_-and I'll piss in your water bowl,_ vermin!"

Spider-Man froze and Danny realized that under his mask, his lips were drawn into a tight expression. He whirled and addressed the agents that he'd restrained, "What the _heck_ is wrong with you!?" In response, the agents sneered in a cacophony of vulgarities. Spider-Man ran his hand over his face and shot some his liquid-thread (web stuff?) at the faces of some of the louder agents, binding their lips together like duct tape. "Really, what's your problem?"

Danny wanted to reassure him that their threats were mild opposed to their usual treatment, but he couldn't speak. He just couldn't… _form_ the words. He just gaped while Spider-Man shot off rounds of webs at the agents' mouths.

Soon enough, almost all the agents that protested were silenced. Spider-Man turned back to Danny and nodded to him, "I'll get us out of here, but it'll be uh… well, you don't have a thing about heights, do you?"

Danny shook his head.

"Alright, good." Spider-Man lead Danny to the front of the truck and stood near the now broken windshield. It was dark outside, but with his enhanced vision, Danny could tell they were somewhere on an interstate, stopped at the side of the road. Carefully, Spider-Man wrapped an arm around Danny's waist and pulled him close to him. He aimed his wrist outward, toward a nearby tree alongside the road, and pressed his fingers into his palm. And then everything_ lurched_ forward as they were pulled into the air.

He was using his webs to move through the air, like… an actual spider. It was an inventive way of maneuvering around, he'd give him that. However, Danny hadn't flown in so long that the motions of secondhand flight were making him a _bit _nauseous.

Spider-Man used the treeline beside the interstate to move, heading down the road. Danny caught a glimpse of a road sign and determined that they were in New York, close to the city. _Weird_. Danny figured that this close to the most populated city in America that there would be more cars on the road, but he supposed in the wee hours in the morning that it made sense that there wouldn't be many people traveling. Sure, there was the odd car and a few eighteen-wheelers, but other than that he and Spider-Man were alone.

Soon enough, their surroundings started getting brighter. It was still in the middle of the night, but they were nearing the city – Danny could see skyscrapers in the distance and felt something in his stomach sink. He'd never been to New York. The biggest city he'd been to was Chicago, which _was _considerably big… but this was _New York City! _Who thought he'd seek refuge from the GIW here of all places? It was scary yet thrilling, but above all it was unbelievable. He couldn't exactly… _grasp_ that this was happening. After all, he'd been captive for eight months, used as the GIW's little toy.

He'd always wanted to go to New York before he died. Now, he could die in peace. Given that the universe allowed his (_selfish_) departure. There was nothing to stick around for anymore, he'd served his purpose for science! He could go, why was that so wrong? (_Because it _is.)

"Hey, are you okay? You're uh, sorta quiet, dude."

Danny broke from his trance. Spider-Man was watching him out of the corner of his vision. His mechanical eyes were focused on the terrain, but Danny could sense his attention. He'd gotten used to the feeling of people watching him, so used to it that it was second nature. Danny shut his eyes and exhaled, "I'm fine. Where – where are we going?"

He hoped Spider-Man wasn't taking him to the authorities or somewhere. Of course, if Danny's suspicions were correct… Spider-Man was a vigilante. He wouldn't risk outing himself to the authorities, even if it meant getting Danny government help. After the GIW, the last thing Danny needed was more help from the government….

"I haven't figured that out, exactly," Spider-Man admitted. "I was… uh, thinking of calling... my mentor. Unless you need a hospital or something? We can totally go to a hospital if you need it!"

The more Danny listened to him talk, the more familiar he felt. The way he presented himself – his devoted yet _uncertain _manner – reminded him of Phantom. Just some kid in over his head playing hero, but Spider-Man… he was a good fighter. And he was human, right? Human teenagers couldn't fight as he did. So he had to be an adult hero, right? That still didn't feel right…. Maybe Spider-Man was more like him than he'd assumed; maybe he wasn't wholly human either.

"I can't go to a hospital," Danny spoke cautiously. He didn't want to seem _too_ adamant about refusing medical attention, then it'd look like he was hiding something. He'd learned that from Jazz, who always picked up on his stupid little lies.

"Alright man," Spider-Man nodded, swinging from another tree. "You're sure, though? Those guys… they didn't seem friendly."

Danny almost snorted. That was one way to put it. The Guys in White: Infamous ghost exterminators and researchers, known for capturing and ripping apart ghosts from the inside out, and _not very friendly_.

"If you mind me asking… why did they kidnap you?"

Why did the GIW take him? Good question.

Heck, they didn't even know he was half-ghost when they initially captured him, but it didn't take them long to figure it out after the first vivisection. He'd just been on the street one day, fighting a typical ghost… was it Ember? Kitty? It was a girl, he remembered that, but for the half-life of him, he couldn't remember who it was….

He'd just put the cap on the thermos and turned to wave at Sam and Tucker. But Sam and Tucker weren't there. In fact, the crowd that had been there ten minutes earlier had vanished. No one was on the street, save for him. It was eerie. And in retrospect, he should've acknowledged that eeriness and flown away. But he hadn't and-

They shot his core. He must have idled long enough for their sniper to get a clear shot. And then… everything went dark. There was a strong whirring and he was whisked away. Confined within some ghost-containment device. And his core _throbbed_ against the walls, wailing like a wounded animal that something was wrong.

And when he was released, he was greeted with stale whiteness. And _plenty _of pain.

"They decided I was rare enough to experiment on, I guess," he replied, detached from his own words. He knew that's why they did it, saying aloud it _shouldn't _hurt. "I look normal, but I'm not. And they happened to figure me out."

Spider-Man swung off another branch, readjusting his hold on Danny's waist. "That's… messed up. I'm sorry that had to happen to you, but anyone who kidnaps and tortures anyone is in the wrong. Even if they can justify experimentation."

Maybe not. Maybe they were in the right. He was useful to scientists, harmful to humans – ethics aside, logic supported experimentation. Sure, he hurt a lot… but his feelings didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

(_You're right, you don't… matter._)

"It wasn't that bad," he lied.

He felt Spider-Man tense. Behind his mask, he could sense… sympathy? No, not sympathy – something stronger than that. Everything was fuzzy, but… it was almost like he was _relating _to Danny on some level. That only piqued Danny's earlier suspicions… that this guy wasn't your ordinary vigilante.

Danny tilted his neck. It'd been so long since he could speak freely that this sort of question felt wrong, offensive – and it probably was. But… this guy _saved _him. And if curiosity killed the cat, at least it killed him. (_Stop.) _(No.)

"Are you human?" he blurted out.

"Yeah," Spider-Man answered easily. He paused, took another swing, and coughed, "Well, I _am_ enhanced or whatever you call it if that's what you're asking."

So he was human… plus some. Unlike Danny, who was a hybrid. In some ways they were similar, but nowhere near the same.

Danny blushed, realizing how left-field that sounded. "I was just wondering," he assured. "I'm uh, not. Kinda?"

"Oh. Okay," Spider-Man nodded. They were even closer to the city now, and the trees were starting to thin. "I'm gonna land for a second and call Mr. S – _my mentor_."

Too embarrassed to respond, Danny swallowed and gave a firm nod.

Spider-Man maneuvered them to the ground, landing in a thicket of trees beside the interstate. From there, Danny noticed heavier traffic and some buildings – actual _skyscrapers _– in the distance. Spider-Man leaned against a tree and crossed his arms, "Karen, call The Godfather."

He kept mentioning 'Karen'... did Spider-Man have an earpiece in? Or was Danny missing something else?

Spider-Man fidgeted with his hands for a minute, doing his best not to stare at Danny. After a few moments, Spider-Man straightened his posture and tilted his head, as if listening to something. Underneath his mask, Danny watched his lips thin, "I - I know," he said. "Wait, "I - I know. Wait four o'clock? I thought it was like two... but uh-"

He cut himself off, listening to whoever was on the other end. _'The Godfather'_, Spider-Man's mentor.

"Alright, alright. Sooo I know you told me not to on weeknights, but I've been watching these drug dealers, right?"

A pause. Danny attempted honing his senses in on Spider-Man, seeing if he could hear the other side of the conversation, but it was for naught.

He continued, "I know! But just listen! So I found out that they were gonna be in this armored truck, right? And Ned sorta helped me track them. Then I swung out to the interstate-"

He cut off again and cringed. Spider-Man looked up and mumbled, "Uh sure… sure May knows-"

This time, he flinched. Spider-Man shook his head and pleaded, "No, no don't tell-!"

There was a beat of silence and he groaned, "_Fine_. But anyway I went out to the interstate and I see this truck, right? So, I ambush it but like it's the wrong truck." He lowered his voice, but Danny could still hear. "There were all these dudes in suits with some kid locked up in high-tech shackles or something. Shady as f-"

He huffed when he was interrupted.

"Yeah, that's what I thought at first too. But I think he's enhanced or something, like me. Well, he's saying he's not human. So uh, I don't think the cops are a good call for this. What should I do?"

At least he agreed that police were _not _a good solution.

"Yeah, _duh_," Spider-Man tapped against his leg and Danny could _feel_ him roll his eyes. "What, you think I'm just gonna leave some guy locked up?" He lowered his voice again, "They were calling him a _specimen_! I _had _to get him out, Mr. Stark."

… Stark? Why was that familiar? He couldn't be talking to _the_ Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man, could he? Danny didn't keep up with all the Avengers gossip, after all Amity Park had bigger concerns, but you had to live under a rock to not know Iron Man.

There was an online petition for a while to get him to fight Amity's ghosts, but the government shut it down; there was a multitude of organizations that liked to keep Amity's ghost crisis hush-hush. Around Amity, it wasn't exactly a secret that the government kept the existence of ghosts under wraps. No one really minded, because who _would_ believe in ghosts?

Danny rediverted his attention to Spider-Man. The web-slinger glanced back at the city, scanning for something. "Uh… just a few miles away," he determined. "I've been swinging down the interstate for a while-"

Spider-Man was cut off and this time, the person on the other line spoke for well over a minute. Spider-Man kicked some leaves with his feet, drawing circles in the dirt. Whatever his suit was made of, it didn't _look _like it had good padding on the feet… huh.

"What?" Danny's attention snapped back to Spider-Man. "Come on, I don't - I can skip school! Let me come with-!"

The longer Spider-Man spoke, the more he sounded like a teenager… like Danny. It was a bit eerie, how similar they were in some respects.

Spider-Man nodded his head against the tree, "Okay…." he sighed. His tone indicated that the call was over and mumbled under his breath. In seconds, Spider-Man asserted Danny's stance with a resolute demeanor. "So how much of that did you get?" he asked.

It took Danny a moment to realize that Spider-Man was addressing him. "Uh - uh. Some?" He averted his eyes to the interstate. "Y - you said Stark, right? Was that uh… _Tony_ Stark?"

He felt stupid even as he said it; he was leaping to conclusions! People just didn't _know_ Tony Stark – he doubted that someone like Spider-Man (who was now _clearly _a teenager) had his phone or whatever. Though, not every vigilante had suits like Spider-Man… sure, Valerie's might be similar, but she attained her technology through _Vlad Masters_. Vlad wasn't Tony Stark, but he was definitely a few billions behind Earth's savior.

However, even as Danny's chagrin dripped from his conscience, Spider-Man's reaction did little to refute his assumption. His white, mechanical eyes widened like the lens of a camera and his balance wavered. "Uh… maybe, yeah," he admitted.

Danny's breath hitched in his throat. _Woah_. How had this all progressed so quickly? Just an hour ago he was on a truck to a new facility, destined to endure inventive experimentation procedures. And now – and now! This kid vigilante – who could stick to _ceilings _– called Tony Stark about Danny.

Maybe this wasn't happening. Maybe an agent had just butted him in the head too hard with a gun. It was all too much to hope for-

(_Hope? What do you know about _hope_? You still want to _die_, selfish little specimen._)

Danny clenched his fists, suppressing the nagging voice in his head. Spider-Man sensed his distress and added, "Don't worry, though! Mr. Stark wants to help you!"

Danny inhaled sharply, "Help _how_?"

Spider-Man took a step forward and Danny reflexively turned his chest intangible. However, he wasn't used to exerting his core – which was still quite injured – and leaned forward in pain. Spider-Man gave him an odd look, "Are – are you okay? What was that?"

"'s nothing," Danny dismissed, chastising himself for such a stupid move. (_What were you thinking?_)

"O… kay," Spider-Man decided. "Well, Mr. Stark wants me to take you by my apartment. I live with family in Queens. It'll be a few minutes, but a driver will pick you up – I have to stay home since I have sch – a um, morning commitment. I gotta… fight more crime!" he laughed warily. "But Mr. Stark is gonna help you out at the Avengers facility. You said you're uh, not human. Legally and medically, your best bet is to sought help there."

Now Danny _was_ dumbfounded. "I'm going to Avengers Tower?" _No way_. Avengers Tower was practically a famous landmark – it was on t-shirts, postcards, everything! Now he must be dreaming….

Spider-Man shook his head. "Avengers Tower was sold five months ago. I was kinda bummed since it's closer to Queens but… I don't know. The new facility's upstate, middle of nowhere, better security," he shrugged. "Yeah."

"Oh." Even the idea of going to _an_ Avengers facility was dizzying. (_Or maybe that's just backlash from your core, idiot._)

"So you're fine with that?" Spider-Man asked, offering his hand.

Danny was at a loss for words. The Avengers… even as _broken _as he was, who could pass up the Avengers? It was like he'd entered an alternate reality – break free from (well deserved) torture and meet Tony Stark! Despite his suicidal yearning, it was as if fate concocted an enticing scenario to thread him along… keeping him tethered to life.

In the light of Spider-Man's offer, Danny spat something incomprehensible. He didn't know. He just… _didn't_ know how to respond.

"Say that again?" Spider-Man asked.

"I uh – well, sure?" he accepted Spider-Man's hand.

(_You're a hypocrite. You claim you'd like to slip into the nether, yet when an opportunity presents itself you let it slip…._)

Spider-Man pulled Danny close again, preparing to swing again. Danny shut his eyes, letting himself dissolve into the moment, letting his decision solidify. At the moment, he'd trust Spider-Man.

"I just realized," Spider-Man turned to Danny. "I never got your name."

_His name…? _

Danny opened his eyes and hesitated. "It's… Tucker," he responded. "Tucker Manson."

Under his mask, Spider-Man smiled. "Nice to meet you, Tucker. Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances." And with that, Spider-Man fired a web shooter and pulled them into the air.

So maybe Danny didn't have _that_ much trust in his savior. Though, for the moment he had enough.


End file.
